


the precise art of not handling it

by lovey bear (kuma666)



Series: eulogy for your kneecaps [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff and Humor, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Please Kill Me, Scout's A Snothead And Medic's Shameless So
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 07:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuma666/pseuds/lovey%20bear
Summary: Scout has a thing for Medic. Medic's feelings for Scout are more... complex.





	the precise art of not handling it

"Ay."

The voice, just as obnoxious as it was Bostonian, came from the doorway of the infirmary. At this point, Medic didn't even look up from his desk. He had been through this particular song and dance so many times before that it no longer affected him; it used to be very annoying, but that was weeks ago. Months, perhaps.

"What is it now, Jeremy?" he asked Scout, still entrenched in his paperwork.

Scout approached Medic's desk- he was in his stocking feet and therefore almost silent in his advance, but the doctor felt his presence there, obvious as a _schnitzel_ in a _schuhladen_, instead.

"_Ahh,_" the runner started, and there was a quiet bristly noise, the sound of him scratching the short hairs at the base of his skull. "I thinkya already know what I want by now, Doc."

Medic knew.

For the first time in their conversation, he looked up from his desk. As he massaged his temples, his glasses slid down his nose a bit.

"You think correctly," Medic responded. "And it's getting quite tiring, to speak the truth."

Scout snorted. He plopped one unbandaged hand onto Medic's desk, leaned on it, put the other hand on his hip.

"Oh, come _on_, Doc." he teased. "Y'can't think that 'lil 'ol me is _that_ much of a strain on you, canya? It's- it's impossible! _Really!_"

Somehow, through that cheese-eating grin of his, the runner managed a pout. Medic shook his head, but then his eyes widened a fraction when his Second Opinion spoke up in his head.

_Shut that_ dummkopf _up, now. Shut him up well._

He hadn't heard that inner voice of his in a while. Might as well, then.

Very suddenly, so suddenly that even he himself did not expect it, Medic rose from his chair. The movement shoved his desk, a hideous metal thing probably salvaged from a school somewhere, away from him, throwing Scout off-balance. The runner bounced away immediately, his hands up near his face.

"Woa-hoah, Doc! I get it- _chill!_" he yelped. Medic smiled a mysterious little half-smile. It was so rare to see Scout off his beat that it was funny when it _did_ happen.

"Jeremy," he started. The younger guy had been looking at the far wall, but at the saying of his name his eyes snapped back to the doctor. He squared up a bit, put on his usual world's-smartest-aleck sneer... but there was still a mist of nervousness about him. The runner was, quite simply, just trying to save face.

"Yeah?" he said. "That's my name, y'know. Don't wear it out."

Medic looked around the infirmary almost thoughtfully, then back at the runner. At once, Scout felt his entire face heat up; it was like Pyro had pointed his (her? its?) flamethrower point-blank at his face and pulled the trigger.

"Jeremy," Medic repeated. "If I _were_ to return your affections- this is _if_ and only _if_, now- do you not see how awkward things would become?"

"_What?"_ Even in his embarrassed state, Scout was so indignant that he scoffed. "_Awkward? How?"_

The doctor quirked his mouth to one side impatiently. "Our _ages, _for one, boy. I am already well into my forties. You are barely thirty." As the words left his mouth, he began to approach Scout, who just as quickly began to back away. In his mind, Medic kept hearing his Second Opinion whispering, _Shut him up well. Shut the _dummkopf_ up well, now._

"A-and?" the runner snapped back. "We're both grown men, ain't we? _Age don't matter at this point, Doc!"_

Medic clucked his tongue. "Perhaps not to _you_, my boy, but imagine how it would be for _me._" He sighed, went on. "How could I embrace you, knowing that I was already treating patients with my father while you were still in the cradle? That I had had a life long before yours even started?" Medic held up one finger. He was still approaching Scout, who was still backing away. "Therein lies the problem. How would _I_ handle it?"

For once, the runner was speechless. Then the backs of his knees hit the metal frame of a cot (that's how far Medic had managed to back him up, the doctor) and he went sprawling, legs up, across the thing. He quickly scuttled into a sitting position. The fall knocked the words back into him, apparently.

"Just... just don't!" he stammered. "Like, try not to think about it, or anythin'..." He was so humiliated by himself by then that he had to mumble the rest: "That's what I do."

At first, Medic said nothing. Then he burst into great, hearty gales of laughter, and _that_ stunned Scout into silence. _Again._

Eventually the doctor stopped laughing, and a warm grin took the laugh's place. He sat down on the cot beside Scout, took the younger guy in his arms before he could scoot away. The runner stiffened at first, but then relaxed when he realized that there was no way out of the situation but through it. On instinct (though somewhat grudgingly) his head buried itself in Medic's chest, and each breath he took after that filled his lungs with the doctor's scent- antiseptic but still attractively musky, cologne and medical antiseptic combined, like a sexy hospital or something- and made his chest ache in a craveable way. He could feel the knot of Medic's tie against the curve of his eyebrow. Scout wasn't aware that he was practically in the doctor's lap by then, but he _did _know that his head was on fire, and if it wasn't, then it sure did feel like it.

Medic felt the runner's face burning against him like a banked coal and smiled gently. He supposed he _had_ been fond of the boy for a while, though his fondness had been brought on by a strange, mostly forgotten dream rather than the runner's sunny personality. (The dream had been horrible, Medic knew, as he had awakened with tears drying on his gaunt cheeks, but he could only remember holding Scout's body in his arms, with no way of reviving him... that, and that the Engineer had been with him when he found the runner. Very strange, it had been.)

They sat like that, embracing, for maybe five minutes before Medic leaned down to whisper into Scout's ear.

"You have done well, my dear boy," he murmured. "You are very deserving, now, I believe."

His words confused the runner, who looked up, straight into the doctor's eyes.

"Deservin'? Of what?"

Medic chuckled.

"Of this."

Then the doctor's lips were on Scout's, and the runner found himself thinking that they were the best medicine he'd ever had, because they made everything that sucked in his life just melt away like a blowtorch to an ice cube. It was great.

So great, in fact, that when the door opened to the infirmary and Medic pulled away, he found himself quite irritated.

"Doctor, I-" the Heavy started, then fell silent. He had had a headache, but at the sight of the two he decided it would be best to be strong man and tough it out.

"-will visit later," he finished, and turned around. Scout smirked.

"That's right, tubby," he called after the big man. "Out you go. Doc's busy right now!"

Heavy left, shutting the door behind him. Scout watched him go, then turned back to Medic. Immediately, his ego, active only seconds ago, went out the back door with a bang. He suddenly had a question, a prying one, one concerning the events that had just gone on between them, but he wasn't too sure if he'd be able to ask it.

Screw it. Might as well.

"How'd you..." Scout had to turn away under the passionate weight of the doctor's gaze, pretend to clear his throat, before he could finish his question. "How'd you handle it?"

At first, he thought Medic would ask him to clarify what he meant, and he felt like a right true schmuck, but the older man knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Just the way you do," Medic responded. "I didn't."

Scout opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid, but the doctor was kissing him again, and, quite frankly, it made him forget what he was going to say. It made him forget that he was even _going_ to say anything, actually.

Considering the runner's mouth, it was probably better that way.


End file.
